


Neptune & His Mad Mermaid

by claryherondale



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: 65th Hunger Games, 70th Hunger Games, Careers (Hunger Games), District 4, F/M, First Kiss, First Love, Hunger Games, Love, Post-Games (Hunger Games), Pre-Hunger Games, Prostitution, Sad, Tragic Romance, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9161224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claryherondale/pseuds/claryherondale
Summary: Annie Cresta and Finnick Odair meet when they are young, and she slowly creeps up on him, until he is helplessly in love with her. There wouldn't be anything wrong with their love, if not for the 65th Hunger Games claiming Finnick as a tribute. When he comes back, they have two years of reprieve before he turns sixteen. But the Capitol wants him. And President Snow is willing to go to any extremes to force him into compliance.Annie and Finnick's love story is one of starry-eyed romance and inevitable tragedy.





	

The ocean unfurls in coils that reach up to me with foamy fingers. It seems angry, which makes sense. I’m angry, too. But not any more or with stronger vocalization that anyone else in District 4. It’s just louder in my heart today than it normally is, because it was the last day of training in the Career Academy before the Reaping. It’s a break for most of us, our training to be picked up again at the end of the next Hunger Games—but for two, it will be the time to employ every skill that has been taught to us. It will be the third time my name is put in one of those glass bowls, and I would like to say that I’m not nervous, but I am.

This stretch of the beach is generally deserted, and it stays true to that today. My unevenly tanned feet are comforted by a soft straining of sand. I close my eyes for a moment, digging my toes into it deeper, and listen to the sound of the waves as the sun begins its descent on the horizon. 

“Annie,” I hear Finnick say behind me.

I turn around and, without preamble, take him into my arms. He rests his head on my shoulder and twines his limbs around mine, and we take an hourglass second of quietness to just breathe one another in. There’s so much I want to say to him. So much that I can’t. Because this is just the way things are—every component of our lives is about survival, and the Hunger Games is just another one of the threats that looms over it.

If only I could just pick up every single grain of sand on the beaches in District 4 and pour them into the hourglass of time we have together, we’d get to freeze in each other’s arms, uninterrupted, until the end.

But of course, the minute fades and we fall back into the evening blossoming in colors around us. 

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

“No, don’t be,” he assures me.

Together, we sit on the sand and watch the sunset. I look over at him sideways, trying at subtly, and bite my lip very slightly at the sight of his sculpted, shirtless body. The corner of his mouth rises a bit, and I’m sure he knows that I’m watching him, but I’m not exactly ashamed. He knows that I like him more than I should. 

We first met when we were younger, living nearby one another in the rich cottages that make up District 4, but we didn’t have much contact until we started in school. We began learning the tricks and trades of our fishing district. He started helping me with little things during lessons, when I would have trouble with tying certain knots or other minor dilemmas.

And then, when we turned twelve, we were entered into the Career Academy: the illegal institution that teaches us the honor of becoming a victor of the Hunger Games while training us to be the best warriors we can be. The Capitol turns a blind eye to it, because they like us. We’re a rather rich district, and most of us are beautiful in the way they like. We’re by the beach, so we have tanned skin and naturally lightened hair; we’re exercised rigorously and our jobs demand hard labor, keeping most of us fit.

From there, Finnick and I grew much closer very quickly. It’s been two years since we started there—we’re fourteen now, and I trust him more than anyone in my life. And I know that he trusts me the same.

As the sun continues to fade, scrawling out the infinite thoughts of the day in different hues that we can’t translate into the consumption of others’ secrets, Finnick reaches out and takes my hand. His fingers are strong and steady: the trademark of a fighter. I look away until I can manage to say what I want to. What I probably shouldn’t.

“Finnick,” I start uneasily, “I know you and I have talked about it more than once, and we’ve agreed to just ignore our feelings until the Reaping where we’re eighteen passes and there’s no change that either of us will be chosen . . . but you’re already wrapped around me like seaweed. Even if your name was to be selected and we hadn’t ever been anything more than friends, it would destroy me. So, what’s the point in—”

He doesn’t let me finish. He interrupts me by giving me my first kiss. It’s delicate and tender, soft but passionate. His lips taste like the salt of the sea, like home, and my heart flutters like a seagull caught behind my ribcage, its wings flurrying against the inside of my chest erratically.

When he parts from me, he murmurs, “I know, Annie. I know. I want to be with you, too. You’ve crept up on me. I don’t know how you managed it, but as much as I tried to ignore my attraction toward you, every day, you were there. And I couldn’t help it.”

“What are you saying?” I ask breathlessly.

“Annie, I’m in love with you.” He quickly cuts off what I’m about to say with, “You have such a logical mind. Let yourself just feel for a moment. We’re only fourteen, but I know what I feel. And I love you.”

I close my eyes very briefly, my heart sweltering with unimaginable euphoria at the sound of his words. “I love you, too, Finnick.”

He kisses me again, and we stay out on the stretch of sand before the water until the moon comes out and bathes the navy blue in a blanket of silver with our arms tangled around one another.

 

My third Reaping Day. My father has left a blue dress out for me, and I pick it up as I walk by the chair in the corner by my door. I bathe in the tin tub in the other room and then pull the outfit over my head after ringing my hair out so that it doesn’t get droplets of water all over the nice clothing. I stand before the dirty mirror and pull my long, brown hair up on top of my head in a precise bun. Not a strand is out of place.

My eyes, colored as though someone poured some of the sea into a ring around my pupils, look bright and youthful. But I don’t feel it. I feel like I have been dragged through the grime and brought up to clean myself up just so I can be pushed back down.

My father walks me toward the Justice Building when it’s time. Our Square is far more pristine and TV-ready than most of the districts’ are. All of the structures are faultless, and the ground is primarily made up of sand with little but vibrant pieces of sea glass spread all over. It’s beautiful and artistically pleasing to the eye. 

My father gives me a stern look when we halt where we have to separate, and with emotion that he normally restrains from, says, “Ann, I know your mother would want to be here today, to hold your hand when it’s over and the fear has passed. But although she can’t be with us physically, she’s in the very air that you breathe. Know that she is with you. That you are safe. And I am with you, too. If mermaids can survive the ocean’s storms, then you can too, kiddo.”

I nod and thank him, and then I turn around and line up with the other girls from my age group. People begin filling the Square quickly, and Peacekeepers are crawling around us like sand crabs. The other kids who stand by my side are silent, even keeping their breathing quiet so as not to show their trepidation.

I can hear the eighteen-year-olds behind us laughing and talking loudly, but I know their bravado is false. None of them want to die. They just want the glory that comes with living through the unspeakable.

The mayor comes out. It’s the same speech. We watch the same video from the Capitol—the one broadcast at every Reaping across Panem today. And then District 4’s escort comes out. She is devoted to her status here, as this is one of the privileged districts, a very coveted one to work for if that is what a Capitol citizen deigns to do.

Her name is Aemilia Laeca, and her skin has been dyed a very pastel blue. She has silver tattoos crawling around the sharp features of her face, shaped like occasional scales on her body.

She’s wearing a green pantsuit, and she definitely looks more professional than she could, given the normal ridiculousness of Capitol citizens. But she can’t shake the oddly amusing accent that seems so misplaced for reading out almost inevitable death sentences.

First co¬¬¬¬mes the selection of a female. I look away and hold my breath, as though somehow that will keep me safe from drowning in the weight of possibility. 

I take in a sharp lungful of oxygen when the name of a girl that I don’t know is called. I look up as, expectedly, an eighteen-year-old girl raises her hand in the back and volunteers to take the younger girl’s place in the Games.

I don’t recognize her, and I don’t care to. Still, I watch her as she ascends onto the stage, a smile radiant on her face. She waves at the crowd—everyone, aside from those in the Reaping pool, is cheering. It takes a few moments for the excitement to die down. And then Aemilia goes for the glass bowl holding the boys’ names.

I don’t know what I’m expecting, but it’s definitely not the name she reads.

“Finnick Odair.”

It feels like the river of blood flowing through my veins stops suddenly, and my skin prickles everywhere. Certainly, someone will volunteer for him. One of the older boys—one of the boys who has been training for this four additional years.

I glance hopefully toward the back of the crowd, but all of the eighteen-year-old males are looking down at the ground and away from each other and the cameras. I was right: their bravado is completely false, at this moment when Finnick needs it to be true. At this moment when I need it to be true.

“Finnick?” repeats Aemilia.

His face his emotionless and strong as he emerges from the group of fourteen-year-olds, now that he has realized that no one is going to step up and take his place.

I watch in absolute dread as he shakes the girl’s hand on the stage, and Aemilia says, “I present to you the sixty-fifth tributes of District Four: Finnick Odair and Vita Orca!”

They’re whisked back into the Justice Building amid cheers from the district. I can’t get past everyone quickly enough, but once I’m at the entrance to the building, a Peacekeeper looks me up and down.

“Annie Cresta?” he asks.

“Yes,” I confirm.

“Come on in,” he says, opening the doors for me. He must be a Peacekeeper from here, not one brought in from the Capitol for the Reaping. “Finnick is already asking for you.”

When I’m allowed into the room with him, just the two of us, I wrap my arms around him and silently cry into the skin of his neck, my body wrecked by the nightmare that is coming for me: letting him go.


End file.
